


The Fall of Babylon

by silverr



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gen, Hypocrisy, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, Irony, Missing Scene, Period-Typical Racism, Witch Hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: The day after Quynh is taken away, Andromache escapes the witch hunt.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	The Fall of Babylon

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to **saiditallbefore** for beta.

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He had been sent for after the second hanging. Irritated to have been called upon, he suspected that yet again his time would be wasted due to the ignorance of the local clerics and the incompetence of the executioners. After hearing the comically exaggerated testimony that the two women could not be killed, he had suggested they dilute the witch's power by encasing her yellow-skinned demon familiar in iron and sending it away.

At least he had the mild satisfaction of hearing how desperately they called to each other as this separation was carried out.

He would have left immediately following this, except that his horse suddenly came over lame: thus he was forced to stay and supervise the burning.

At first it was like any other. She had screamed and struggled against the flames, her hair flaring in an unholy nimbus, but then, once the fire had died and the choking, fatty smoke began to clear, the charred bones and lumps of flesh of what remained began to restore before his very eyes, and he knew at that moment that his quest had finally been rewarded.

Careful not to show his excitement, he breathed a silent, fervent prayer of thanks to the Almighty for the blessed opportunity being bestowed upon him, then told the frightened villagers that it would be necessary to perform a third-order exorcism before such a powerful witch could be properly burned. 

Simple folk; they did not question him.

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He arranged to have his enormous iron-bound chest and two goats brought via cart to the stable where she was shackled. 

They had clothed her in the lowliest sackcloth, given her no food or water, and forced her to endure the stench of night soil, but despite this he—and only he—saw the radiance hidden beneath the ashes. Her hair, long before the burning, had grown back only partially, so that now she looked more like a beardless boy than a woman. Apt, if she was truly the disguised angelic visitor he thought—he hoped—her to be.

Still... he must be sure. Satan was ever watchful to trap the unwary. He dismissed the guards, and turned back to see her watching him, not with fear or desperation, but with an unnerving calm.

He had placed the chest so that she would not be able to see the contents, and now opened it, taking out a tray of iron implements. 

She had no reaction to the sight of the thumbscrews, piercers, pincers and tongs, even though she certainly had either experienced them herself or seen them used when she was first taken. 

He then took out the second tray. Holy water; a crucifix blessed by the archbishop; the reliquary with the fragment of bone from Saint Agatha. As his heart began to beat slightly faster, he sprinkled her with holy water, then picked up the crucifix and pressed it to her forehead.

As expected, she did not flinch. 

"Hebrews chapter 13, verse 2," he said quietly. _"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."_ He laid the crucifix and the holy water back in the tray. "As I alone among the inhabitants of this city have recognized your true nature, we must put on a charade until we are far from this place."

Still she was silent, although now there was a faint amusement in her eyes.

He began to pronounce the rite of exorcism loudly enough that those listening outside would hear, all the while unwrapping a bundle he'd taken from the chest. Inside was a fine white chemise, nearly new.

Setting down the garment before her, he then drew a key from his pocket.

She held out her wrists.

When she was unshackled he pointed to the chemise. "Exchange that for the rags you now wear," he whispered. He then turned his back to her, continuing his recitations, and slapped the goats until they began to kick and bleat.

When at last the rustling sounds behind him ceased and the filthy sackcloth was tossed within his view, he opened the chest for the last time and pointed down at the shriveled, blackened corpse of a naked woman, retrieved from a peat-bog. 

As he continued to pray—now and again striking the wood of the cart while exclaiming loudly, "I command you, Satan! Leave this woman!"—he indicated to her that she should remove the corpse from the chest, place it in the straw where she had been seated, dress it in the sackcloth, then attach the shackles to the rotting wrists.

When this was accomplished the angel tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, questioning what came next.

"First Samuel, chapter 2, verse 9: _He will keep the feet of his saints, and the wicked shall be silent in darkness; for by strength shall no man prevail."_ He nodded at the chest. "It won't be long," he whispered.

She stepped carefully into the chest, then folded herself onto her side. For a moment it seemed there was a spark of terror in her eyes as he placed the trays back into the chest and lowered the lid, but he assured himself that he must be mistaken.

It was a simple matter, once the chest was secured, to slaughter the goats.

Emerging from the stable in his blood-soaked robes with a great triumphant cry, he gestured behind him at the sackcloth-garbed bog corpse. "Witness the power of God! After I drove the possessing demons into the goats, the witch assumed her true form!" 

After receiving effusive thanks and a hefty reward from the city's mayor, he had the cart harnessed while he changed out of his soiled clothing, and then, pulling himself away from the adoring crowd, he drove the cart outside the city, far enough away that distance and the cover of the trees hid him from view. 

He then stopped the cart, unlocked the chest, and helped her out. She was sweat-soaked and shaking, but he gave this no mind. _"For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways,"_ he said as he helped her out and handed her a sword. _"They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone._ Psalm 91, verses 11 and 12."

She looked down at the sword, and then back up at him. "You are asking me to bear you up in my hands?" she asked.

"Of course," He said. "What better reward, what protector for one such as myself than an angel? Now all shall fear and respect me, lest you strike them down."

She looked down at the sword again, hefting it as if testing its weight. "Where is she?" she asked.

He did not understand. "She?"

"Quynh," she said, looking up at him, eyes ablaze with righteous fury. "My companion."

With a sinking feeling he realized the enormity of his transgression. Had God sent not one angel, but _two?_ and he had— No. It could not be. "They thought she was your familiar," he said, even though he knew she could see it was a lie. "Or a witch." 

She gripped the sword more tightly. "So where is she?"

He shrank into himself. "Placed in iron," he said, "and taken I know not where." He clasped his hands. "Forgive me, but if she is as you are, will she not free herself easily?"

"I'm not an angel," she said, raising the blade, "but even if I were, you don't deserve to be borne up."

And then she relieved him of his gold and his horse, and rode toward the sea.

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_~ The End ~_

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_ first post 29 July 2020 _

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Jeremiah 50, which is all about the smiting of Babylon. The chapter has frequent references to archers and lots of swords, so it seemed apt for a vengeful Scythian.
> 
> Note: It has been pointed out that there are simpler explanations for how Andy might have escaped. I can embrace all of those explanations, while still enjoying my snarky headcanon. :)


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